Deus Ex: Genesis
by Jacob Schoerner
Summary: Moments before merging with the Helios AI, JC Denton thinks back on the events that brought him to this point. Will focus heavily on the storyline and philosphy of Deus Ex, as opposed to being a step-by-step walkthrough
1. Chapter 1: Ascension pt1

**Chapter 1: Ascension (part 1)**

The cage lies at the edge of the bridge; thick glass windows and metal beams surrounding a dizzying mass of wires and machinery, all gathered around a central empty area, roughly the seize of a person. My coronation chamber, the designated space for my ascension looming in front of me, vaguely resembling a bizarre, computerized diving bell.

I peer down from the bridge at the floor far below, to the bottom of the enormous cylindrical hall, with a tinge of awe. This place, every minor detail of the massive complex, has been created for me, as I have been created for it, and the staggering enormity of the situation at hand makes me pause and reflect. My next actions will shape the future of mankind; the power I wield at this moment is perhaps greater than any single man has ever grasped at before. It only seems prudent that I stand back for a moment and try to make some sense of it all. Those who would interfere with what is about to take place have all been outmaneuvered: Everett is far away, an old man attempting to run the world through promises and connections made by a long-defunct conspiracy. Bob Page is trapped in his private fortress, awaiting the coming of a power that has abandoned him long ago, and Tracer Tong, for all his skill and technique, is but a fly on the wall to the raw processing power of the Helios A.I.

I do not doubt that at some point later in history, these last few weeks will be recognized as the foundation of whatever society that rises out of the ashes as the dust settles. Considering this, it is difficult for me to assert which point in time that is to be counted at the beginning of the events, for whatever my choice, it will always be an approximation, and it feels somewhat irreverent to base the date on which humanity will view the fall of an empire to have started, on a subjective judgment. Be that - my hesitation - as it may, I doubt there is anyone else who can tell this story, and as it needs to be told, it falls upon me to decide upon where to start it.

After some consideration, I have chosen a dark, windy night at the docks of Liberty Island, just outside New York City.


	2. Chapter 2: Liberty

**Chapter 2: Liberty**

It was my first real mission for U.N.A.T.C.O; a fairly basic combat assignment. The Northern Secessionist Forces had occupied the Statue of Liberty, and I was to take out their leader. Ideally, I would also free Gunther Hermann, a UNATCO agent held captive in the statue basement, but the leader was the top priority. I was to rendezvous with Paul, my brother, at the UNATCO-held docks, and then proceed into the statue.

I remember – vividly – the feeling when I jumped off the transport boat. The murky wood of the docks under my boots, the smell of the sea and the sound of the roaring wind and the clattering of the security bots, all heightened by the biomods; the millions of nanites swarming through my blood vessels, enhancing my senses and abilities. Most prominently, I remember the feeling of holding a gun in my hand, and knowing that today might be the day of my first kill. Considering all that has happened since then, I suppose I ought to express regret at my actions on that day and those that followed it, and yet somehow, I cannot blame myself for what I did, for I would certainly do it again, given the same parameters; indeed, my later involvement in this game of conspiracies has in much been uncannily similar to the missions that marked the start of it.

Gun in hand, wind in my ears and wood under my feet, I surveyed the docks for Paul Denton.

Finding my brother wasn't hard. I had barely started walking towards the ramp leading to the island itself, when out of the shadows stepped a big man in a trench coat. His blue eyes – eyes that I shared, beneath my sunglasses – peered at me, and – though I might be adjusting my memories to fit better with what I know now – I believe I saw a tinge of worry, mingled with regret, in the bright, artificial glow.

Still, it was good to see my brother; I had thought that his mission in Hong Kong would prevent him from being present at my first assignment. Our meeting was brief, professional, and ultimately inconsequential – I knew what my orders were and he knew that I knew. I do not remember the words we said, save for one part at the end of the conversation. He had asked me what kind of arms I would require, and I had replied that a sniper rifle would be useful, given the large courtyards surrounding the statue, courtyards that would undoubtedly be swarming with NSF. Being able to take them out from a distance would give me a prominent advantage. Paul gave me a strange look, and handed me the rifle along with a warning. "This isn't a training exercise, JC", he said, still giving me that somewhat disappointed look. "Your targets will be human beings. Keep that in mind".

I could tell probably retell every moment of that night. How killed my first man – an NSF sentry – mere seconds after entering the main island. How I took out some of the terrorists from afar with the rifle, then hacked into the NSF computer grid to turn their automated attack turrets against them. I knew my orders included saving Gunther Hermann, if possible, but upon finding that the section of the statue where he was imprisoned was protected by laser beams that could trigger an alarm and bring the whole island down upon me, I instead proceeded up the stairs, towards the top, and the NSF commander.

He was alone, which probably saved his life; I had fought my way through a small army of his underlings, and I was wary of an ambush. Should he have had a companion, it is quite possible that I would have opened fire, opting for the safe approach, and perhaps then later events would have gone differently. As it was, he just raised his arms and surrendered. UNATCO troops soon came in behind me to take him into custody, and that was my first mission.

Something that has stuck with from that night, as the unlikely events of the past few weeks have unfolded around me, was something the commander said as the troops brought him away. He looked back at me in defiance as he was being escorted down the stairs, and said, over the roaring of the wind: "You can't fight ideas with bullets".

I knew as he said it that it was standard terrorist rhetoric - every special forces-team in the world is trained to resist persuasion and mind games - , and yet, later, as I strolled into UNATCO HQ, my enthusiastic sense of pride was somewhat dampened by his words echoing in my head.

Soon, however, another voice monopolized my headspace. Alex Jacobson, the UNATCO security technician, had been backing me throughout the mission, chipping in advice here and there through some kind of communications device embedded in my skull. The appearance of a disembodied voice, apparently speaking right out of my head, unnerved me somewhat, but it wasn't like I could shut it out somehow anyways.

"Remember that Manderley wants to see you.", it said right now "Level two. His secretary, Janice Reed, has your login and password"

Putting aside my considerations, went to meet Joseph Manderley, the commander of UNATCO.


	3. Chapter 3: UNATCO

Okay, I've tried to follow the advice from everyone's reviews :)

You'll notice that this chapter is twice as long as the last one, despite covering a much shorter segment of the game, and that it features much more dialogue and interaction between characters. I'm mainly expressing the personality I'm building for JC through his thoughts on the the conversations, and on the events around him in general, since I'm trying to refrain from changing too much of the actual dialogue (Nearly everything is lifted word-by-word from the game)**.** Keep on reading and reviewing!**  
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><p><strong>Chapter 3: The United Nations Anti-Terrorist Coalition<strong>

The corridors of HQ were in solid grey concrete, but someone had taken the time to cover the floor with a bright red carpet, giving the whole place an almost quasi-homely look. As I walked through the entrance corridor - passing a retinal scanner which, as was explained to me by a sniggering security guard, could "read blood vessel patterns right through your sunglasses" - I took a deep breath and let the reality of the night wash over me. People – mainly veterans of long-past wars – will tell you about their first battle, about the feeling of eerie regret when they first killed a man, but to me, the aftermath of battle was where the truly critical point lay. During a mission, you reacted on instinct, animalistic survival-senses rising to suppress any moral qualms or second thought, and only afterward did you examine the consequences. It is with a strange sense of pride that I look back and remember how I regretted nothing, how I did not pity the deaths of those who had fallen in the crosshairs of my rifle.

Manderleys office was on the second floor of the building, and I was greeted with a smile and a compliment on my actions in the statue by his secretary, Janice Reed, as I strolled through the transparent door.

"Good work out there, Mr. Denton", she said, "Mr. Manderley said you handled yourself nicely. Welcome to UNATCO HQ. Our little family keeps getting bigger".

"Is Mr. Manderley available?", I asked.

"Yes, go right in. By the way, your computer account is ready. Login, JCD, password, "bionicman"

How does one best describe Joseph Manderley? One might say that he is – was - a man in his fifties, nearly always clad in a gray uniform with a red tie. That his hair and beard, both in nuances of gray and white, was neatly brushed and trimmed respectively, and that his manners were impeccable. But that would hardly convey the sense of trepidation, of respect combined with familiarity, which I was faced with upon standing before him. This was the commander of U.N.A.T.C.O; a legend in anti-terrorism, a man who had single-handedly brought down entire crime syndicates. To say that I looked up to him would be an understatement. We all did.

"The man himself. Splendid!", Manderley said, eying me with a fatherly look. "Do accept my apologies for the situation topside"

"A refreshing change from the academy, sir", I replied evenly

"Don't despise training, my boy", He spoke softly, but his words carried the weight of a lifetime fighting terrorism behind them, "Even you would be worthless without the shaping touch of drills and exercises".

Manderley informed me that my next assignment would take place onshore. While UNATCO had been distracted by the attack on Liberty Island, the NSF had stolen a shipment of the plague vaccine, Ambrosia. I was to be partnered with another agent, Anna Navarre, on a mission to retrieve it. I was instructed to report to the various institutions within HQ, then leave the island by boat to meet Navarre at the docks on the mainland, near Castle Clinton.

Leaving Manderleys office, I proceeded downstairs by a concrete stairway. Level three of HQ was, as a friend of mine would've put it, "where the real work was done". Located here was the armory, the medical center, the security office and the offices of the resident operatives, Anna Navarre and Gunther Hermann. I had intended to meet with my friend and instructor from the academy, Jamie Reyes first, but a buzzing in my head signaled impending communication via the infolink. "You're getting warm", said the disembodied voice of Alex Jacobson as I passed an door with a sign reading "Computer security".

A wave of heat and noise hit me as I entered Jacobsons office. The place was crammed with computers and technology; every table seemed to carry at least one display, showing cryptic figures and schematics. I navigated through the mess accompanied by the voice ("You're red hot, looks like you've found me"), and found a scrawny young man in overalls sitting on a chair at the other end.

"Like leading a mouse to cheese". The voice was the one that had spoken to me via the infolink, meaning that this must be Jacobson.

"This thing is starting to give me a headache"

"Don't worry. We shut it down when you go off duty"

Jacobson was the quintessential computer geek – a promoted hacker fanboy living the life of his dream, working as the in-house tech guy at the worlds most advanced agency, guiding a cybernetically augmented secret agent on missions. He was also quite the genius. As I left his office, his closing assurance that he would be watching my back was mingled with more or less professional ideas about jacking into online jukeboxes and whatnot, and I wasn't sure weather I should feel reassured or terrified at having this kid at my side in the field.

Next door to Alex's office was the medical department, furnished with tiles painted a light blue. A medical bot passed me as I walked through the area, towards the office of Jamie Reyes.

Jamie had been my instructor at the academy, and was, except for Paul, my only friend within the organization. It was good to see him again, with his characteristic white doctors coat and back-combed black hair.

"Hey, JC", he called, turning away from his lab computer to face me.

"You look like the real thing. They actually let you operate on people?"

"Just fixed Gunther's knee, in fact. A sticky actuator. So far, I feel more like a mechanic than a doctor"

We chatted for a while about our respective first days at work. Jamie was jovial and easygoing, but I sensed that he had something more important on his mind.

"Listen, JC", he said, suddenly looking serious, "About your augmentations. You know they're preparing to roll out the technology worldwide, right?"

"As long as I don't turn green and grow a pair of antennas, as I understand it"

"Yeah, well, the design's pretty modular, which means you'll soon have access to upgrades from standard 'augmentation canisters'. The canisters contain a colloid of ROM modules. Some are generic upgrades; others require you to make permanent choices about how to configure one of your subsystems"

This was the stuff everyone was excited about; the stuff that would let me see through walls and jump across rooftops. This was what I'd signed up for. All the advantages of augmentation technology, without the drawback of having to replace parts of your body with chunks of metal and wiring. Nanotechnology was the future made flesh.

"It's about time they implemented some of this stuff", I said eagerly. Remembering something, I went on. "One more thing before I go, since you've been briefed on my augmentations. What can you tell me about the infolink?"

"Let's see... Microreceiver exostructure in the sulci, mechano-carbon threads on the axons... for queuing, you know, packet routing...". He looked a bit amused. Apparently my confusion was showing. "Anything particularly interesting to you?"

"Is there a way to turn it off?"

Jamies smile vanished. He looked a bit uncomfortable, and shot a quick glance at the security camera in the corner of the room.

"This might sound a little funny, JC, but I'm not permitted to answer that question"

"Your clearance is higher than mine?"

"Regarding your systems. I AM your physician"

"No big deal. I was just curious". I wasn't about to get Jamie into trouble over something as trivial as the functionality of a piece of tech. In retrospect, it strikes me as odd that I was willing to discard the implications of being under constant UNATCO surveillance so easily, but then again, I wasn't really one for questioning authority back then. I saw the world through my targeting system; every living creature automatically classified as "good", "evil" or "neutral" by a computer database.

My last stop before leaving was the armory. Behind a counter and a sheet of bulletproof glass, I was faced with yet another living legend: Sam Carter.

Carter had been a soldier longer than I had been alive. He was one of those mythic people that you tell campfire stories about at boot camp; "You heard about that time that Carter took out an NSF platoon with a pocket knife?", and so on. As the era of augmentations made his considerable prowess in the field less valuable, he had promoted into a general, and overseen several of the most important battles of the century. As I snapped into an instinctive salute, he looked annoyed.

"At ease, agent Denton", he said in a low, reassuring voice.

"General Carter, I read about the Merced Operation in school. This is a great honor"

"I'm not a general anymore. Just call me Carter"

I must have seemed hopelessly naive to him; a fresh-faced, idealistic recruit, lining up to get the newest toys for killing people. No, I do not think that I made a great first impression on Sam Carter, but then again, I do not think that many people do. When you see through the idealizations and propaganda that surrounds most people's opinions on war, naivete on the subject looks more and more akin to ignorance. Carter cut off my blabbering attempts at talking about his past by going straight to business.

"Enough of this, soldier. You have your own op and time is short. How 'bout I issue your stealth pistol?"

"That sounds fine, thank you sir". I had the sense not to pursue the subject.

After receiving my gear from the armory, I headed back to Manderleys office for the full mission briefing. Paul had already gotten there, and was engaged in a conversation with the commander. As I entered, Manderley cut Paul off.

"That will be JC's job"

"What's that?", I interjected. Paul turned to face me.

"The power station. The NSF have the Ambrosia in a warehouse protected by cameras and booby traps. We want to power down the whole system". He looked back at Manderley, who continued.

"We're talking one illicit generating plant, protected by weak groups of NSF. Knock out that plant, and Paul's team can walk right into the warehouse".

Didn't seem too complicated. "Just tell me where it is".

"The NSF are openly resisting our deployed forces, gradually falling back", Paul continued, "You'll have to deal with them first"

"And you be ready, Paul", said Manderley, "When the power drops, go in and go in hard"

Paul seemed somewhat offended.

"I'll use my discretion"

"Go in like the U.S Marshals. We lose that vaccine, I'm sending your butt to the mayor to explain why he and his three daughters won't get their pills this month"

"Yes sir". Paul turned to me. "Let's not waste any time, JC. Get down to the dock. A boat is waiting to take you and your partner Anna Navarre ashore"


	4. Chapter 4: Anna Navarre

Hey everyone, and thanks for the reviews and subscriptions! You'll notice that this chapter is a bit more "walkthrough-like" than the previous ones - hopefully this should serve to reduce the feeling of rush that was sometimes present earlier. You'll also notice that I've taken some liberties - there's some dialogue here that isn't in the original game, and some situations have been slightly changed. This is not out of any percieved flaw in the original, but rather because I feel that there ARE some differances between the the mediums of literature and videogames, and stuff that works well in the latter might not be as interesting in the former. Keep on reading and reviewing! :)**  
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**Chapter 4: Agent Navarre**

Night weighed heavily on Battery Park. A popular tourist site in the daylight, the place was now inhabited mostly by bums and stray cats. A street urchin walked between garbage cans looking for something to eat. The patrol boat had dropped me off at the docks, and I could see Castle Clinton looming ahead like a brick model of the Pentagon. Ignoring the calls from the children and the occasional beggar, I proceeded towards the castle, where Navarre would be waiting. I wouldn't want to be late to the mission.

Anna Navarre had taken up positions at the entrance to the castle, along with a few UNATCO troops. With their green uniforms and assault rifles, they looked more like soldiers than policemen.

Navarre herself was a different story entirely. The last scion of her breed, she was probably as close to the perfect mech as possible. A bright red lens in her left eye socket dominated her face, and copper wire snaked across every exposed piece of skin. Her arms and legs were protected by metal plating, and she looked at me with a gaze that was not quite human and not machine, but rather something in between.

"All right, let's go. The terrorists are in a fighting retreat; a few have barricaded themselves inside Castle Clinton". Her voice sounded like a broken engine with a Russian accent.

"Lead the way"

"Our orders are to locate a barrel of Ambrosia they are hiding inside – I will give you a schematic of the barrel. But first we will exterminate the NSF terrorists"

"Exterminate?". Eager as I was to become a soldier in the war on terrorism, something about the way she said it struck me as odd. Suddenly, I instinctively knew that if I ever happened to fall on the wrong side of the battle lines, Anna Navarre wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger. Parlay, surrender, honor; none of it mattered to this woman. She eyed with that cold look of hers.

"A precious opportunity we cannot neglect". Something about her tone made me understand that the subject was not to be argued.

"What about the rest of the shipment?"

"That is your brother's assignment. You will take the subway to meet him in Hell's Kitchen, but first we should deal with Castle Clinton". And that was that.

The action movies make every skirmish seem like a glorious conquest. The brass and the strings come in as the heroes stand on the barricades, and the shells hit the ground like rain in slow-motion. The male lead throws a longing gaze at the stars above, and the music shifts, incorporating notes from the love theme as the bullets soar past him.

On a count of three, two of the troopers kicked the doors wide open, and a third threw in a L.A.M grenade. Amidst the smoke and fire and confusion, the NSF were easy targets, and the initial confrontation seemed over almost before it had begun. Then Navarre and I moved in side by side, guns at the ready, and fired on anything that still moved. The courtyard was silent within minutes. Actual combat rarely resembles the movies.

At the center of the courtyard was a small kiosk. Shooting a glance at Agent Navarre and receiving a nod in return, I produced my set of lock picks. Soon, the door swung open silently on well-oiled hinges. Inside there was chaos. The floor was littered with garbage and rubble, and the furniture was in bad shape. Evidently, someone had been inside when we began our attack – a candy bar lay half-eaten on a table, and a soda stood opened beside it. Moving silently from room to room, I searched the small building. The ambrosia wasn't there, but no one had expected it to be. Castle Clinton was supplemented by a network of underground tunnels; most likely that was where the NSF had retreated with the vaccine. Confirming this, one of the rooms in the kiosk contained a stairwell downwards, it's protective metal grate left open by a fleeing terrorist.

"Proceed downstairs and retrieve the ambrosia, Agent Denton". Navarres voice started me, coming out of the darkness behind me. "This is the only exit. I will remain here to eliminate any criminals who try to escape"

As much as her reasoning chilled me, I saw the logic of it. "Affirmative, Agent Navarre"

The stairway was bathed in red emergency lights. I moved downstairs quickly and quietly through the shadows, emerging at last through a rusted metal door into the underground complex. The service tunnels made no attempt to emulate the aged feeling of the castle above. The floor and the walls were of metal, and in the distance I could hear the faint buzz of electronics. Moving along, I watched every corner for security cameras.

At the end of the corridor was yet another stairwell, ending in a metal door. The rusted hinges squeaked as I pushed it open, and on the other side, I heard a surprised voice

"Will? Your shift doesn't end for another...". I could almost see the surprise on the terrorist's face, behind his mask as I emerged. He begun lifting his rifle, but I was faster, and he fell heavily to the metal floor after a bullet from my stealth pistol.

The room was small and rectangular, with exits on both ends, and to the right. Most of the open space was taken up by two huge crates. I didn't bother to open one and check the contents; UNATCO would be swarming over this place any minute. Taking care to avoid the gaze of the security camera scanning the room, I darted through the right exit and crouched behind a crate. Luck was with me; in front of me stood the barrel of ambrosia.

"Objective complete". Jacobson's voice was tinged with static. "Agent Navarre will describe your next assignment and stay behind to protect the ambrosia. Return to her out front"

The vast majority of the compound was still untouched, but I had my orders. Taking care to move silently, I carried the barrel back upstairs, through the corridors and up the last stairwell. Navarre was waiting in the kiosk

"You are not afraid to kill; I am pleased. The last thing I would expect from the brother of Paul"

"I'm learning as I go". I had decided that it would be best not to provoke her, at least not until I had proved myself inside the agency.

"You just passed Lesson One. Lesson two is how we deal with the terrorists in the subway station"

"I'm ready"

"The terrorists have wired the platform with explosives and put in hostages. Get the hostages out if you can, but make sure the NSF learns that human shields will not work against UNATCO"

"Nothing we can't handle with a few EMP grenades". My mind was working furiously. Navarre might not care for "collateral damage", but I shuddered at the thought of sacrificing innocent lives just to prove a point. Yet I could hardly refuse a direct order, especially not one that was perfectly in line with Coalition policy. Oblivious to my dilemma, Navarre continued.

"We are thinking the same thought". It took me a moment to realize that she was still talking about the EMP's. "I will equip you with two grenades. They will disable any electronic detonators within a radius of twenty meters".

I nodded and started walking away, Navarre called after me.

"Move quickly, Agent Denton. Your brother Paul has gotten our troops into another mess".

The sound of gunfire greeted me as I approached the subway entrance. A few UNATCO troopers, crouching behind roadblocks, were exchanging bullets with some NSF terrorists at the other side of the entrance. The troopers were pressing the attack, and as I watched, the terrorists tried to make a run for the subway, and were promptly gunned down to a man. New York had become a war zone.

I exchanged greetings with the commanding UNATCO officer, and proceeded towards the subway entrance to survey the situation. "The NSF terrorists in the subway have threatened to blow up the platform", Jacobson warned me through the infolink. "Watch for boobytraps". The terrorists had set up a guard post halfway down the subway, and my appearance was greeted with a hail of bullets. I answered in kind, and easily dispatched the four guards. I had the high ground and superior arms and training. Moving downstairs, I was faced with the real situation.

The entrance to the station was wired with laser beams, presumably connected to the TNT charges placed all over the station itself. Behind them stood five civilians, huddled together like sheep by four armed NSF terrorists. I held my stealth pistol in one hand, an EMP grenade in the other. Navarre would've wanted me to drop the grenade, take cover at the guard post behind me, then open fire and eliminate the threats. I felt my hand shaking. The situation would be resolved in a matter of minutes, and it would be perfectly in line with Coalition policy. One of the NSF terrorists spoke

"Careful now, Agent. Denton, is it? You'll want to step back, slowly. No sudden moves". I made no response.

The terrorist, seemingly emboldened by my inaction, pressed his gun to the throat of one of the hostages, a young homeless woman. "Get back, Denton, and no one will be hurt. Now!". The last word resounded on the concrete walls, commanding me, imploring me to take action, and I found myself moving on instinct, without thought.

It was over in a matter of seconds. The first terrorist fell before he could react, two more before they could get their guns ready. My aim was steady.

The third one blew up the platform.

Why? I have asked the same question, many times since. He must have known that the TNT was powerful enough to kill everything on the platform, that he didn't have a sliver of a chance of surviving himself. What force can be powerful enough to drive a man to use his final action in life to murder himself and four innocent people? I have asked, and I have yet to find an answer. He pointed his gun straight at one of the danger-marked crates and fired.

The force of the explosion knocked me back, up the stairs, and would've killed me had it not been for my armor, and my augmented constitution. Instead, I lay spread across the stairwell, like a child making angels in the snow. Several moments passed before I could muster the courage to look up.

The platform was chaos. The explosions had ripped pieces of concrete from the walls, and dust hung in the air. It was a miracle that the whole station didn't cave in; the pillars supporting the roof looked dangerously weakened. Of the terrorists and the hostages, nothing remained but a few pieces of charred flesh and bones scattered across hallway and the platform. The blood was everywhere, smeared across the walls and dripping from the ceiling. Jacobson sounded shocked, through the infolink. "I don't believe what I just saw". His voice was trembling. "Those were innocents; you can't just go in and shoot everywhere!". I nodded slowly. The world seemed faint, dreamlike, as I boarded the train and left for Hells Kitchen, and watched the troops come in to clean out the carnage behind me.


	5. Chapter 5: Policy

The longest one this far, this chapter covers Hell's Kitchen, the rooftops and the warehouse. Loads of dialogue.**  
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**Chapter 5 – Policy**

As I stepped off the train in Hell's Kitchen my hands were still trembling from the carnage I had unleashed in Battery Park, and the similarity between the two platforms was hardly soothing. I had killed before, true, but this was different. Far different. I felt as if I had crossed an important line; if I, too, caused the deaths of innocents, was I really any different from the men and women I fought against? The whole concept of anti-terrorism becomes less appealing once you realize that "terrorist" is a subjective definition.

Doubts aside, I still had my mission. In many ways, the most difficult part of guilt is not the pain of the guilt itself, but rather that of setting guilt aside. Using every technique the academy ever taught me, I turned inwards, focused, and forced myself to ignore the events in the Battery Park subway. I didn't forget them, but rather, I dulled myself to the emotions associated with them. I needed to keep a level head if I were to complete the mission without causing any more damage.

Paul met me in the stairway. Had he heard about the hostage fiasco yet? Hoping to avoid any questions, I went straight to business

"What's the situation here?"

"You're taking over. I've got to get my team ready to raid the warehouse"

"What about the EMP field"

"Still in place. Your primary objective will be to locate and disable its power source, probably an industrial-sized generator in a large building". Paul's voice gave away nothing. He didn't mention the mess Navarre had talked about earlier.

"I ordered the civilians to take cover a block south of here in the free clinic and at the Underworld Tavern, down on the corner". He added it like an afterthought.

"Why'd you have to clear the streets?"

"There's still a heavy NSF presence in the streets, and we're taking some fire. We could use your help if you get the chance"

"Maybe. I'll see if I get an opportunity"

"Good. And JC – we'll be waiting for you to take down that EMP field, but use reasonable force. Liberty island was fine, but we don't need another Anna Navarre shooting spree". So word of the subway massacre hadn't reached him. I nodded, and we parted ways.

The streets of NYC were deserted, save for the homeless and the police. The streets – closed off due to the heavy NSF activity in the area - were littered with garbage and debris, and graffiti lined the walls of the buildings. Hell's Kitchen had seen better days. No stars shone on the cloudy sky above, and I made my way towards the Underground Tavern in the bright white glow of streetlights.

The tavern was the prototypical seedy metropolitan dive. A winding corridor led into the dimly lit main room, where the patrons sipped on cheap drinks and tried to ignore the omnipresent smell of spilled alcohol. The place was packed; Paul had been in a hurry when he evacuated the civilians off the streets, and he hadn't had the time to be picky.

I too was running short on time. The NSF power generator was somewhere nearby; odds where that one of the locals would've picked up on something unusual.

"...Ambrosia's a controlled substance. Most people don't even thinks it is". The words came a corner, where a young woman was talking to a middle-aged man. Remaining as inconspicuous as I could, I moved closer. The woman seemed to be trying to talk the man into some sort of agreement

"You oughta be thankful the dealers got their hands on it. A week from now it might be too late.

"To be paying in chits, in a grimy alley somewhere...". The man sounded doubtful. I stepped forward, and they turned to me.

"Yes?". The woman's voice was crisp and businesslike.

"Just curious", I replied carefully, "Thought I heard you say Ambrosia"

The man seemed beyond carefulness. "I'm Dan", he said in a low voice. "My wife has the plague"

"He already lost his daughter", the woman interjected. I ignored her and watched Dan.

"I'm sorry to hear that". He didn't seem to hear me.

"So do I trust some street punk called JoJo to get me pharmaceuticals? Trust him with my wife's life?"

This was getting out of hand; I could hardly discuss the plague vaccine with a couple of civilians.

"I thought Ambrosia was just an urban legend".

The line was Coalition policy. If confronted with questions about Ambrosia, we knew nothing. The bureaucracy made sense at some point, or so I told myself. Dan's shoulders slumped, and the fight seemed to go out of him.

"JoJo probably just wants to sound like a player. I shouldn't get my hopes up"

"I don't know what to say. You just have to do what you think is right". There. Standard issue government answer. We do not order, just suggest.

Sometimes we suggest with guns.

"I'm going to do it". Damn. So much for government suggestions. The woman patted him soothingly.

"I'm glad. I hope she does better"

"Can't be any worse for her than morphine". Dan didn't exactly look convinced. No matter. I would have to leave the policing to the police; I had more important business.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Go right ahead".

"I'm looking around for a power generator, possibly hidden, large enough to cover a building"

"You in real estate".

"I just need to find it". I lay all the weight of being an armed secret agent in a trench coat behind the words.

"Oh-oh-oh, of course. You know, I tied in power at a place a few blocks south, a warehouse. Strangest thing. They wanted to conceal these gas-driven generators on the second floor. Didn't give a hoot if their own people got asphyxiated". There it was.

"How do I get over there?"

"No way through the blockades now. We went over some rooftops to get there; there was a lift - the code was 3316, I think". Rooftops. Great.

I thanked Dan and walked off, looking around the tavern for more possible informants. In the shadows next to the bar stood a man clad in black pilot's clothes. He was wearing sunglasses, even though we were indoors. At night. Perfect. The tinfoil hats may be lunatics, but they're usually good at keeping an eye open for information. I went up the him.

"Mind if I ask you a few questions"

"Hey, you look like the vigilante type. What if I said where you could load up on military hardware?"

This probably didn't have anything to do with my mission, but weapon trade was a serious, especially if it involved military-grade technology.

"Where's that?"

"That's valuable information. You'll have to come up with some kind of payment". The bar was close by, to the left.

"Hey, bartender", I called, trying to sound casual. "Get this man a beer"

I turned back to the pilot-guy, who seemed pleased

"That'll do. His name's Smuggler. A real paranoid nut; wires himself in with booby traps. But he knows things; there's stuff in the sewers that only Smuggler knows about"

"Thanks. Maybe I'll pay him a visit"

"Now I'll tell you something you can't hear from anybody but me"

"What's that?"

"Area 51. You heard of it, right?"

I almost rolled my eyes, behind my sunglasses. Tinfoil hats and their theories. I fought to keep a straight face as I replied

"Actually, I'd rather hear whether you know anything about a warehouse with an illicit generator..."

"I worked out there". The guy didn't seem to hear me. "Most people think they've got aliens from another planet, but I didn't see any flying saucers. You want to hear about it, I'll tell you – for the price of a beer".

I refused the offer as politely as I could, and backed away from the tinfoil hat. Maybe this tavern hadn't been such a good idea after all. A UNATCO agent interviewing the locals while a street war rages outside is bound to attract every lunatic in town. Besides, I had a fairly good idea of where the warehouse was located, based on Dan's description. I decided to take my chances. Time was running short. I'd already made my presence known here; chances where the NSF had an informant somewhere in the tavern, and every second I delayed increased the likelihood that they would receive warning.

I was just about to leave the tavern when a young girl approached me. Her face was lined with excessive makeup, her clothing minimal.

"Hey, you with the troops? I need help?"

"What's the problem?". As much as I needed to hurry, I decided that the mood among the civilians of Hell's Kitchen was hardly going to be helped by UNATCO agents ignoring the questions of the people we were trying to protect.

"Actually, it's my friend. Johnny took her into the alley west of here, across the street. Her name's Sandra. Sandra Renton"

I was prepared to deliver the standard "Please take your request to the police"-line, but the name caught me off guard. Sandra Renton...

I'd met Sandra when I was staying with Paul in New York. As far as I remembered, she'd been a bright young girl. A bit rebellious, a bit of a troublemaker, but nothing more than the ordinary. Certainly not someone who deserved to be pushed around in a dark alley by some street punk. I checked my internal watch as my instinctive morale clashed with my sense of duty. Technically, Sandra wasn't any different than the myriad of civilians who could use help in one way or another. Technically.

The girl in front of me was, naturally, oblivious to my dilemma.

"I've got a bad feeling about this", she said, trying to convince me. "He was mad. He gets crazy when he's mad"

"Don't worry. I'll check it out", I answered absentmindedly, still considering the situation. Then, like the ticking of a clock, or the firing of a handgun, I reached my decision.

"Where is this alley?" I had already made the mistake of disregarding civilian life in favor of mission priorities once this night.

A few minutes later, I was standing at the edge of the alley. The overhead streetlights were broken and didn't provide much lighting. I switched on my nightvision augmentation. Inside the alley I could see the silhouettes of two people, one of them smaller than the other. A man and a woman. I moved forward, towards them.

"What I'm TELLIN' you, girl?". The young man's shrill voice cut through the relative silence of the alley like a knife. The girl answered in a bored, slightly-too-cocky tone. The voice of someone who is afraid, but knows that showing it won't do any good.

"You said I didn't have to. Make Janey do it"

"I already took the money, and when it's JoJo and it's somethin' he wants, you got to do it. You and me both, baby. We helpless". JoJo. That name kept cropping up everywhere. The girl's facade was beginning to crack. She sounded frightened.

"We were just gonna hang out today"

"I TOLD you how it don't play with me, this amateur unprofessional bullshit". He emphasized the last word.

"Johnny..."

"If it's business, it's business. If it's us two hangin' out, then we hang out. Right now it's business"

"I want out, Johnny. I didn't know it would get like this"

"Put it this way. You do it. You want out it's like a gang; you get beat out"

I had heard enough. I stepped forward

"Leave her alone or I'll have your ass picked up for pandering". The pimp didn't seem too impressed.

"You ain't no police. I OWN the police"

I shrugged, my hand resting on the stealth pistol in it's holster. I didn't want to shoot this thug, but if he made things difficult, UNATCO had a very clear policy when it came to handling situations like this.

Moving slowly, I lifted my hand to my sunglasses, noticing at the same time that the thug held his behind his back, probably clutching a handgun in his back pocket. He smiled a broad smile and started to move his arm. At the same moment, I tilted my sunglasses down just an inch, revealing the crystalline blue underneath.

The thug stopped mid-motion, his arm freezing with his hand still behind his back.

"Hey, man, look, I don't want no trouble. I'll be leaving, cool?". I didn't bother to answer, and he all but ran out of the alley. I turned to Sandra, moving my sunglasses back to cover my eyes again.

"Thanks", she said, sounding relieved.

"Sucks to get backed into a corner". I wasn't about to throw a lecture; the Sandra I knew detested them. Besides, I didn't really have the time.

"I was tryna' find the back way into Smuggler's". Smuggler? The weapons dealer that the pilot guy in the Underworld Tavern had talked about? What did Sandra want with someone like him?

"Smuggler?" I queried, careful to keep an even face.

"Though guy like you? Figured you'd be a big customer"

"What's he sell? Weapons? Drugs?"

"High-priced weapons. Yeah, you should talk to him. His place is over near the subway. You have to give the password "bloodshot" or he won't let you in"

She looked nervous. "Hey, you shouldn'a threatened Johnny. Soon as JoJo finds out...

"Who's this JoJo?". I was beginning to suspect that "JoJo" was more then just a small time thug. Could be a lead into the NSF.

"You can't touch JoJo". Sandra sounded frantic. "He doesn't go out, and there's only two ways into the warehouse. You think you can sneak into Osgood's at the park, but in the first place it's locked"

"The park? Where UNATCO has the NSF pinned down?". At least I assumed that was still the case. Damn it. Time was running. Sandra didn't seem to hear me

"...and if you go underground he's got laser tripwires, drone guns – military-type stuff. Plus there are guards on the roof"

"Tell you what. I'll handle JoJo". If he was at the warehouse, chances were that I would. "You stay out of the way until the NSF have pulled back". Not giving her a chance to feel offended, nodded at her and left.

The park was nearby, and I could hear sporadic gunfire as I approached. My idea of the battery park subway entrance being a war zone was quickly diminished as I arrived there. This was what war looked like. The NSF and UNATCO were holed up on different sides of a canopy in the middle of the park, hiding behind fences and low brick walls in a bizarre kind of reversed trench warfare. I crouched beside the UNATCO officer giving orders, deducing him to be the one in charge of the situation.

"What's the plan here, officer?"

He shrugged. "Command wants us to take as many as we can alive, but I don't care what the media will think – this is a war we're fighting here. You Denton?"

I nodded. "I need to get through to Osgood's".

"Guess we have no choice but to push the attack on these NSF sons-of-bitches, then." He all but grinned at me. Then he turned to the rest of the men and barked out some quick orders.

Truth be told, it was a slaughter. The NSF were outnumbered and outgunned, and the UNATCO troopers closed in on them like a pack of hungry dogs. A few of our men went down before the NSF squad was overwhelmed by a storm assault rifle fire. You could almost see disappointment on the faces of some of the UNATCO soldiers as the remaining terrorists threw their hands in the air after the initial onslaught. Moving past the mop-up, I walked up the small stair leading to the door to the Osgood & Sons building.

The door was locked, but after a few moments of careful manipulation by my lock picks, it swung wide open. Inside was a storage area of some kind, which I moved through quickly, exiting in a back alley on the other side. A ladder on the side of the alley led to the rooftops.

As I climbed higher, the air grew colder around me, and the wind almost threatened to blow me off the ladder. The sky was starless and dark, and I could only hope that the illumination of the streetlights would not be enough to distinguish my blue-coated silhouette against the brick wall. I was practically defenseless to a skilled sniper, and I felt my body tense. Finally reaching the rooftop, I dropped into a crouch and surveyed the adjacent buildings. No snipers were visible in the immediate area, but I had to be careful. The open space of the rooftops was too much of an advantage for the NSF to oversee. Using the compass built into my visual augmentations, I determined the direction of the warehouse.

Anyone who has visited the seedier parts of New York City know that the broad avenues that they show on the tourist information papers represents only half of the city. Downtown, the back alleys are dark and narrow, the buildings huddled together to make maximum possible use of the available space. Sometimes, fire escape platforms and construction scaffolds will arc over the streets below them as bridges between the rooftops.

Using these natural passageways, I made swift progress in the direction I had determined to be the right one. I crossed one rooftop, then another. Then, the NSF snipers started cropping up.

I was crouching behind a brick chimney when I spotted my first one, standing on a roof directly below mine, clutching a high-powered long-range rifle. Moving slowly and quietly, I removed my own rifle from it's holster on my back, and took aim. Everything was in place, and a pull of my trigger would, barring a unforeseeable twist of the wind or the like, take his life in a single bloodied moment. The rifle was equipped with a silencer, curtsy of Kaplan, a friend of mine back at UNATCO HQ. No one would even hear this lonely trooper fall.

My eye pressed to the lens, the barrel of the rifle pointing a straight line to his head, I hesitated.

It surprises me that I did, when I think back of it. I was still fresh from the massacre in the Battery Park subway, where a man wearing the same uniform as the one in my crosshairs had unleashed fire and death upon innocent men and women rather then let UNATCO "win"; you would've thought that I would be less than scrupulous about taking down one of his friends. Yet, hesitated I did. I sat for what felt like hours, but couldn't have been much more than a minute on the windswept roof, following the patrolling terrorist with my aim.

In the end, that minute of hesitation means little in the long run. I still killed a lot of NSF people in my days at UNATCO. Far more than the average soldier in the average war. I have no excuses, no redeeming facts, except for one: It was no average war, and more importantly, I was no average soldier.

I've held responsibilities far greater than myself in my hands all my life. The right to judge whether a man lives or dies does not belong to any other man, or so the sermons tell us, but then again, after all that has happened, am I still a man? The twenty-first century has been the century of transcendence; step by step, we have cast off the limitations of our flesh, eschewing bone and blood in favor of steel and wires, leaving behind the bodies we were born with to embrace the machine. When a man no longer possesses the body of a man, is he still a man? Does the limitations of a man – moral as well as practical – still apply to him? What is the concept of God, if not that of a human mind and morality unburdened by the limitations of the human flesh?

Steadying my aim, I fired. The terrorist fell to the ground without a sound, and I proceeded to move on across the rooftops.

Crossing a metal walkway in front of a huge advertisement sign, my eyes finally fell on the building which a knew must be the warehouse. My visual augmentations showed high electrical activity from inside, but I wouldn't have needed the tech; you could practically hear the buzzing from inside.

Getting there proved easy. A fire escape ladder led me to a low brick building next to the warehouse garage, and from there I jumped down onto the garage roof, my leg augmentations easing the fall. From the garage roof, a ladder led me to the top of the warehouse itself. The lonely NSF trooper patrolling the roof fell without a sound after a bullet to the head from my stealth pistol.

Proceeding downstairs, I stalked through the shadows. The place was crawling with NSF, every floor patrolled by at least five troopers. My hesitation dealt with after the sniper combat on the rooftops, I eliminated them systematically. You can't scream after someone's slit your throat with a combat knife. I am not proud of the way I fought – a knife in the back is a cruel way to die, and there are always ways to take out a man without killing him - , but I had put my scruples behind me and acted on instinct. An unconscious man can wake up, and sound an alarm. It's hardly rational – my infiltration of the warehouse took minutes at most; anyone I knocked out would've stayed unconscious for the entirety of the mission – but rationality won't keep you alive on the field. Instinct will, and instinct had me leave no man breathing behind me.

Proceeding downstairs, I eventually reached the main part of the building, a huge chamber at the bottom of which the generator loomed like an oversized seashell, giving off visible sparks.

Coalition policy dictates that we – within reasonable limits – try to avoid collateral damage. With this in mind, I could have moved from floor downstairs until I reached the generator, and then disabled it by cutting a few wires. No big fuss. Minimum amount of unforeseeable risks. Minimum property damage.

I felt something wet trail down my hand, and looking down, I was surprised to notice that it was covered in blood. Not mine.

I was tired of moving through shadows, stabbing men in their backs. On a rational level, killing is killing, but the mind is not rational, and feeling the life of a man seep out of him as you push your knife into his throat is toiling to the psyche.

Picking up a LAM grenade from my pocket, I made some quick calculations. The grenade soared through the air in an almost gracious arc, and I was halfway up the stairs upwards before it even landed. The explosion shook the walls, and Alex made an appearance on the infolink.

"Good job, JC. The power just died at the NSF headquarters. Now it's up to Paul. Go to the roof. A chopper is arriving with Agent Hermann on board. He will lock down the warehouse while you take the chopper back to HQ."


	6. Chapter 6: Slipping

I wasn't really planning on continuing this, but I'm a sucker for nice reviews. Enjoy chapter 6! :)

**Chapter 6: Slipping**

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><p>Gunther Hermann was the second mech I'd met, and the opposite of Navarre. Towering a head taller than me, his body almost completely encased in black armour, he appeared less human, more industrial-era machine. Red optical lenses had replaced both his eyes, and a slab of bare shining metal slashed across his skull, somehow embedded into his skin, snaking back down his spine and disappearing below the armour. He moved in slow, precise motions, as if driven by clockwork.<p>

Hermann met me on the roof of the warehouse. Behind him was a military-grade stealth helicopter; all black, flat surfaces.

"Manderley has assigned me the peacekeeping occupation of this district". He spoke in a thick german accent, and I didn't know whether I'd imagined a hint of hostility.

"I took care of the generator", I replied calmly. "How's the raid going?"

"They should've sent Agent Navarre". He smirked. "Your brother is timid like a child"

A stab of fear hit me. "Did something go wrong?"

"You don't need to hear anything from me. Take the chopper back to HQ. I'm sure Manderley has planned a debriefing for the top agents". His smirk grew wider at the last words. _Damn_.

I nodded at Hermann and climbed into the chopper. As I seated myself, a somewhat familiar voice called through the loudspeaker.

"Last boarding call, UNATCO HQ. My name is Jock, and I'll be your pilot for this trip"

I tried to place the voice as the chopper left the ground. By the time I found it, we were already over open sea.

"Hey, you're the guy I talked to at the Underworld Bar, right?". _The UFO guy?,_ I barely restricted myself from adding. "The one asking for beer?"

Jock chuckled. "You don't want to fly one of these birds all wound up. They have a temperament, especially in a crosswind".

Looking through the small window, I could see the Statue of Liberty approaching fast. My muscles tensed. My brother was in trouble and my pilot was a drunk conspiracy theorist. I closed my eyes and leaned back, trying to relax. The chopper moved unevenly, throwing about like a leaf on the wind. In the pilot's cabin Jock had quieted. I hoped he was concentrating.

As I opened my eyes, we swept in over the Liberty Island, rounding the statue in a graceful, almost birdlike twist. Stabilizing, the chopper brought down over the UNATCO compound, finally settling at the small helicopter pad. We touched the ground like a feather. I breathed out.

"You may now unfasten your seatbelts and exit the aircraft. We wish you a pleasant stay at the United Nations Anti-Terrorist Coalition". Jock chuckled again. "Be seeing you, Agent Denton"

As I jumped out of the chopper, a buzzing sound signalled an incoming infolink message, and Alex Jacobson's voice filled my skull.

"Welcome back. Your mission was a success - just about the only bright side of the operation, unfortunately. Report to Manderley for a briefing"

My boots clattered on the steps as I half-ran down the stairway into HQ, racing past the security guards and a couple of government-looking men in black suits. The vagueness of Hermann and Jacobson's suggestions only bolstered my anxiety. As I passed the reception desk, the man behind it gave me a look which was probably meant to be soothing. "I heard about the raid. Don't sweat it. I'm sure Paul had his reasons".

I almost ran down the last stairway. What the hell had my brother been up to?

I got my answer from a grim-faced Joseph Manderley.

As I entered his office, Manderley was finishing up a conversation with a man in a trenchcoat.

"...Understand. He was your pet project. But it's out of my hands. Now that the shipment's been lost...". The stranger spoke in a voice that sounded like grinding stones. He was facing towards Manderley, away from me, so I couldn't see his face.

"I know, I know. I will comply with the order". Manderley was visibly sweating. The man in the coat didn't seem particularly pleased.

"That's all I ask. Carry on. I'm going downstairs to interrogate the prisoners". And that was when I realized who he was.

As Walton Simons turned to face me, I was startled. Blue wiring slithered across his skin, disappearing beneath the surface here and there and emerging elsewhere. He looked at me, his face carved in stone.

"Carry on, Agent."

"Agent Denton, at your service"

"Denton... Yes, I hear that you're turning out to be quite an asset to the Coalition"

"Doing my best, sir". He nodded, and walked past me. I turned to face Manderley. He seemed shaken by the conversation, his aura of experience and security somewhat damaged by the visit from above.

"Hello, JC. Clerical tasks first. Your op bonus is split between the Castle Clinton and warehouse objectives, 500 each. You get the full 1000. Good work across the board. The hostage situation in Battery Park was unfortunate, but you handled the situation according to Coalition policy. No blame for the outcome falls on you"

"Thank you, sir". I tried to keep my voice calm as I continued. "What was the meeting about?"

"Politics. Bureaucracy. Mismanagement. JC... I've got some bad news. The mission failed"

"What about the shipment?"

Manderley sighed. "I'm just going to say it straight, JC. Your brother screwed up. We got nothing, and he's taking the heat this time. The Coalition is letting him go".

Letting him go? Surely UNATCO wouldn't allow one of the world's only two nanotech-augmented agents to just roam the streets unrestricted? At the very least they would have to find some way to ensure the technology he carried didn't fall into the wrong hands.

Suddenly, the implications hit me, and I fought to keep my voice steady.

"What went wrong?"

"We don't know.". Manderley sounded exasperated. "He hasn't reported back. The rest of the strike force says he lost his nerve". He shook his head. "Whatever the case, now it's your turn. We've got one more chance to retake that shipment".

"Has it been located?"

"Take the chopper back to the city. We know they plan to put the Ambrosia on a plane, but we don't know which airfield"

"Where should I start?"

"If I were the NSF, I'd be moving through the subways, the abandoned parts of the infrastructure". Manderley seemed to regain some of his composure as he reasoned, the calling upon old experiences awakening his sense of control. "Our pilot, Jock, is waiting for you at the helipad. Report to Carter and Reyes, then move out"

A couple of stairwells and corridors took me to the armoury. Emerging from the shadows deeper inside the room, Sam Carter seemed none too pleased to see me.

"Agent Denton. Marvelous. In addition to an accuracy weapon modification, I've got some 7,62mm rounds and a couple of multitools". He turned to a shelf and started assembling the gear.

I hesitated. Navarre's words from Castle Clinton flashed through my mind. "A precious opportunity that we cannot neglect". As if talking about buying shares.

"Mr. Carter, can I ask you a question?"

Carter looked up at me. "Certainly".

I chose my words carefully. "I'm getting the impression that UNATCO is focused more on military operations than law enforcement".

"The focus has shifted lately. I agree."

"The only way Anna would have been satisfied is if I'd executed every terrorist in Castle Clinton". I was getting bolder. "The standing order seems to be 'shoot to kill'".

Carter sat the clips he was carrying down on the table beside him. He looked thoughtful.

"Direct intervention is always part of the game. In my day we were just more civilized about it"

"Civilized". I tested the concept against my experience of UNATCO. "That's the word. I guess I was expecting a little more class from the world's anti-terrorist organization"

"We just have to strike a balance". Carter shrugged, then paused. "Why don't I throw in an extra clip with those multitools. I trust you will be able to judge when one or the other is appropriate for achieving mission objectives"

I left the armoury feeling somewhat reassured. Carter was one of the most respected men in the entire U.S military. Surely his word had to have some weight, even among the suits? While it seems naïve now, I had yet to grasp the intricacies of the bureaucracy that shielded men like Carter from the higher hierarchies of power.

Turning left, I entered the maelstrom of activity that was Jamie's office. While the battle in Hell's Kitchen had been a victory for UNATCO, victories don't come without casualities. As I entered the office, Jamie was closing up a black bag. I walked up to him as he turned the corpse over to two troopers.

"Didn't know it would be this bad down here"

"Keeps getting worse too". He made a brave attempt at a smile. "It must be raining bullets out there".

"The NSF aren't kidding around". I dropped the pretense of humour. "How are you holding up?"

Jaime's shoulders slumped. "Fine". He looked down. "I lost one of the privates because a refrigeration unit went down. That's always hard".

In combat, every decision is made instantaneously. The mind learns to put the questions and the guilt aside. They can wait, the enemy cannot. Everything is scaled down into binary choices - you run or you stay. Fire or hold. Right choice you win, wrong you die. Simple, in a way.

Certainly far more simple than watching a young man die because of malfunctioning tech.

"You've got a lot on your hands". There wasn't much to be said. "Don't beat yourself up over faulty equipment".

Jamie nodded.

As I walked up the stairs leading out of HQ, over the lawn and towards the helipad, I had a sensation of the world falling to pieces around me bit by bit. Paul's disappearance, along with the shipment still being lost, gave the feeling that things were slowly but steadily slipping out of hand. Surely the presence of Walton Simons couldn't be a coincidence?

Simons was a famous man already then. As the chairman of FEMA, he was in the eye of the public every time a natural disaster struck. Cultivating an aura of authority and control, his influence was rumoured to stretch far beyond his own agency. And now he was at UNATCO.

My main concerns were for my brother, my secondary for the mission, but under the surface, something else was lurking. I had seen things that I had no explanation for in these past twenty-four hours. Jock may or may not be crazy, but I couldn't deny that there were things within the agency – within the authority that I had sworn to obey – that I didn't know what to feel about. "A precious opportunity that we cannot neglect".

Jock flew me back onshore without much idle chat, as if he'd picked up on my troubled mood. As I stepped out of the chopper, the sight of Battery Park greeted me, along with Alex's voice on the infolink.

"We're dropping you in Battery Park - we know the NSF were moving materials through here at one point. Seems like a good place to start looking."


	7. Chapter 7: Underworld

In response to your reviews:

Shadow Knight: Thanks! I'm trying to model a personality and character arc for JC based on his actions in the game. The game itself obviously didn't show much of his reasons or motivations, allowing the player to imagine JC the way they wanted, but I thought it'd be interesting to see how the storyline worked in a more traditional novel-like environment.

Afalstein: The Sam Carter talk is actually one of two possibílities, depending on JC's acting in Castle Clinton. Though he hasn't really earned it, I gave this JC the more pacifistic one, mainly as it fits much better with the character arc I'm intending for him. Also, the other one sort of makes him sound like a psychopath.

Glad you liked that I allowed JC to realize the danger Paul is in. I brought it in to partly add some suspense and emotional weight to the next mission, seeing as it's a pretty long and sometimes tedious one, but also because it seemed pretty logical that JC would realize something like that, especially now that he's beginning to see the shadier side of the coalition he's working for.

I can see how his reaction when Manderley tells him about Paul can make him seem cold. I'm trying to "warm" him step by step, having him start out as pretty much a government assassin, then slowly starting to question things, but the progression can get pretty uneven at times.

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><p><strong>Chapter 7: Underworld<strong>

Battery Park lay deserted, but I could hear voices coming from near the subway station. Ignoring my instinctive reluctance to return to the area, I entered the small shanty town of hovels that had sprung up outside the station entrance.

The bums watched me with hollow eyes, their faces glowing in the light of the fires they lit in empty metal barrels. I could hear snippets of conversation as I walked among them.

"...They got Ambrosia... I know they have some..."

"...The United Nations invaded the city because of the NSF..."

"...think it's government labs..."

Moving through the hovels, I noticed a familiar face.

Harley Filben was a UNATCO cooperator - some kind of infiltrator, posing as a bum, a drug dealer or an NSF sympathiser, all while reporting vital information back to HQ. He had been at Liberty Island during my first mission, though I hadn't required his aid at the time. I walked up to him.

"Sorry I didn't need your help on the island. I hope it wasn't a wasted trip."

Filben laughed, showing off his yellowed teeth. "No sweat, man. I got paid. That's what matters"

"A real patriot"

"I see it like this. It all balances out. UNATCO's just as much gun freaks as the militias, and if everybody's gonna shoot it out, fine, so long as neither side wins and takes over the whole country"

I didn't have time to argue with Filben.

"The goal of UNATCO isn't conquest. It's the safety of ordinary people like yourself". The standard-issue recommended response.

"I know an army when I see one". Filben shook his head. "Look, I'll be blunt - got any cash? There's a secret passage behind that phone booth down in the subway station. For 500, I'll tell you where to get the code".

A secret passage? That would explain a lot, namely why the NSF had been storing the ambrosia in Castle Clinton. If this supposed secret passage connected to a wider network, the castle would've been ideal as a temporary storage area. Had not two UNATCO agents came in, guns blazing, naturally.

"Sure. 500 for where I can find the code to the phone booth."

"Talk to Curly". He pointed at one of the bums. "He's from the mole-people settlement. You have to give him the password 'Underworld.'". I didn't know who these "mole-people" were, but I could play along. I was starting to get used to it.

From a distance, Curly looked just like any other bum, but as I approached, I began to spot the differences. His clothes were as torn and ragged as the rest of the bums', but he wasn't nearly as unwashed as the rest of them. His hair was long and his beard unshaven, but they both seemed fairly clean. This man didn't live on the street, at least not in the sense that the bums around him did.

"I can think of safer places to camp, after all the fighting tonight". I needed to be careful; according to Filben, this man might be my only chance of retaking the stolen ambrosia.

"Cops said I could be here. Besides, I ain't campin'. I'm with the mole people". Jackpot. Looked like Filben's word was good.

"Why the name "mole people"?"

"They call us that because we live underground – huh, like they're some kind of superior beings or something because they've got more money than we do"

I wasn't about to argue his point, but I needed more information about his people. If they inhabited the tunnels that the NSF were moving through, they might be able to lead me directly to the Ambrosia.

"Maybe you should join your people. Anywhere underground would be safer than Battery Park"

"The moles need someone topside. Besides, it's been pretty quiet. I'd rather be here than have the NSF tromping around with machine guns". Jackpot again.

"The NSF are hiding out with the mole people?"

"Yeah, they haven't hurt anybody. We guess it's all right"

"I need to contact the NSF". I needed to step carefully here; the mole people wouldn't want a war in their tunnels. "Think you could tell me how to find the moles?"

"Sure, just give me the password so I know they can trust you"

"Underworld".

"Good. Long as they've decided to give you access. Go to the phone booth in the subway station. The code's M-O-L-E. That's 6653". Humor. Great. At least it would be easy to remember. "When you get to the Brooklyn Bridge Station, talk to Charlie; he'll get you into the tunnels where we live"

I thanked Curly, and begun walking down the stairs to the platform.

Part of me was expecting to see bloodstains on the walls, but the station was neatly cleaned up. The damage to the supporting pillars had been marked with police signs. It all looked very professional, in a vaguely sickening sort of way.

Not wanting to spend much time here, I entered the phone booth. The glass was missing since the explosions, but fortunately, the dial was undamaged. I put in the code, and was startled as the whole booth slowly spun around, and then began to sink through the floor. A minute later, it emerged in a yellow brick tunnel, and I stepped out. Alex appeared on the infolink.

"After the quakes, the homeless drifted down here, junkies, runaways, grifters. There's a DSS file a mile long on this place. Some of them - the so-called "mole people" - have permanent living quarters in an adjacent tunnel system not on my map."

Eventually, the tunnel opened up into what looked like an abandoned subway station. The place was littered with debris. A few scattered bums stood huddled around barrels in the corners of the station. Attempting to blend in was pointless; I was in military-issue body armour, wearing sunglasses that, while doing a fair job of hiding my augmentations, nevertheless looked out of place in the gloom. I'd barely stepped into the station before a man came up to me.

"Are you the Feds?". He didn't give me a chance to respond. "We don't want a war down here".

So much for my ambition to go undercover. The man matched Curly's description, though. "Are you Charlie?". He nodded.

"I work for UNATCO". I wasn't going to get away with anything less incriminating anyway. "I hear the NSF are using the mole people hideout as a base?"

"Well, the NSF come through here, but they don't bother us.". He chuckled. "If we need help with anything, it's our plumbing. We lost pressure because of the explosions on south street".

"Tough break. You tell me about the NSF, and I'll put in a word with the city about the water"

"The city don't know we've got water, and they don't NEED to know. How about you fix it, and then I'll talk?"

I didn't have time to deal with this, but Charlie left me with little choice. I could've had him arrested for witholding information from a government agent, or something of that sort, but with the Ambrosia getting closer to leaving the country with every moment, a lengthy process was out of the question.

My anxiousness to carry out the mission was far from ideologically driven at this point. If one Denton succeeded in recovering the missing barrel, maybe the Coalition would go easy on the Denton who had squandered his opportunity. The mission seemed to me like a test; a last chance to redeem Paul before it was too late.

Of course, events later that night would reveal that Paul was already far beyond redemption. Perhaps I was, too.

The issue of the mole-people's water supply was easily solved. A utility door had been blocked by debris following a cave-in, but a few well-placed LAM-grenades granted me access. From there, it was just a matter of turning valves. Soon, the water rushed through the pipes. Charlie seemed pleased.

"Glad to see you UNATCO boys do something for the community", he snickered.

I could only agree with him. Restoring the mole-people's water supply was one of the few morally unquestionable things I'd done in the last week. Ironically, it was also one of the ones most likely to get me into trouble.

"Now can you tell me about the NSF?"

"The NSF...". Charlie hesitated. "Yeah, they took over our tunnels"

"How do I get there?"

"Go to the women's restroom on the other side of the station. Look for a keypad under the sink. The combination is 5482"

I thanked Charlie and made my way across the station.

The bathroom looked as filthy could be expected. The mirrors were cracked, and some of the booths lacked doors, empty hinges hanging deserted. The keypad seemed out of place, seated on the wall beneath one of the miscoloured porcelein sinks; a piece of clean, well-maintained technology in a wasteland of mud and decay.

Charlie's code checked out, and at the end of the room a part of the wall swung back to reveal a hidden passage, opening into a corridor.

Hurrying through the mole people's tunnels, I had the sensation of sinking deeper underground, even though the floor was fairly level. It felt like I was sneaking into a dragon's den, awaiting the fire-breathing horror of the cave's inhabitant behind every corner.

My anxiousness paid off as the corridor opened into another abandoned subway station. The sound of footsteps gave me a split-second warning, and I slipped into a shadowy alcove just as an armed NSF trooper passed around the corner.

Holding my breath, I clutched Carter's stealth pistol. I could take the trooper down, hide his corpse in this alcove and be well on my way onwards before he was found. Coalition policy dictates that we embrace any opportunity to weaken terrorist organizations, and my visual augmentations noted him as "red"; an approved target. Capture not being an option, neglecting to assassinate him would technically be in violation of the code that I had sworn to uphold.

As I prepared to fire, the image of the NSF sniper on the rooftops flashed before my eyes. The ghost of my decision then seemed to hover above me, my body recalling the sensations; the smells and sounds of the city night, the metal of the scope against my bare skin and the force of recoil coursing through my shoulder.

Without really being conscious of the act, I lowered the gun. The trooper passed, mere metres from me, and the moment was gone.


	8. Chapter 8: Conscience

Hey again!

Thanks for the reviews, and sorry for the wait. RL keeps intruding on my writing time.

Chapter 8 is pretty similar to 7 in style, I think. I'm trying to balance the philosophical parts with the action parts to create a good mix - do you guys think that it works well, or should either side be more emphasized?

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8: Conscience<strong>

At the core, democracy is about transfering decision-making powers from the individual to the community. The soldier may hold the gun, but he acts on orders from his commander. The commander, in turn, follows the policies of his superiors, the trace of the decision eventually reaching the public figures that have been picked by the community to serve as executors of our common interests.

The soldier may hold the gun, but the community pulls the trigger.

Who was I, then, to second-guess policy? What acts of terrorism would the man who owed his life to me partake in? Democracy is a double-edged sword, in that way. Faith in the community transitions into loss of faith in oneself. Regaining that faith means facing that the line between your own morals and the morals that have been imposed on you has become uncomfortably blurred.

Obviously, the question was ethical rather than practical - even if Jacobson had been watching through my eyes, there was no way for him to know or prove that my hesitation wasn't motivated by concern for the mission. Even so, my pulse was racing. I had defied policy. Not because of any special circumstances, not out of any mission-related uncertainties. Not even out of fear for my own life.

I had disagreed with policy, and so chosen to ignore it. I felt sick.

With effort, I pushed the dilemma aside. The mission required my full attention; I could deal with my own demons after I had dealt with Paul's. Such was the way of UNATCO; ethics and actions fully separate from each other. I suppose that's the way any organized military force has to function - soldiers need to be able to act on command without hesitating to come to terms with their feelings on every other order - but thinking back on it still leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

I was at the mouth of a service tunnel, opening at the far end of the subway station. The station itself was swarming with NSF. A frontal assault was out of the question; the chance of success - while not zero - was low enough that I didn't need my ethical qualms to justify seeking an alternative.

Studying the guards's patrol routes, I waited for an opportune moment, then darted out of the tunnel and dropped down on the track. Crouching with my back pressed against the side of the platform, I began to make my way forward. At the other end of the platform I had spotted a few crates and a small wooden shack. From there, I would have a good vantage point to plan my approach.

Power lines down here were hardly stable, and the platform lay in a state of gloomy dusk, interpunctuated by the flickering light of one or two broken lamps. I moved silently, calling on every piece of stealth training from the Academy. Above me, the footsteps of NSF troopers clattered against the cement floor, sometimes veering uncomfortably close. Jamie had mentioned during basic training that higher levels of augmentation included camouflage and sound dampening technology, but at this point all my augmentations did was enhance my senses. I needed to rely on skill alone to get through here alive.

I reached the end of the platform, and managed to sneak into shack via a small ramp, still unseen by the NSF. Through a tiny crack in the wall, I surveyed the platform. The NSF patrol patterns made it clear that they were guarding the other end of the tunnel, where the platform ended in another ramp. Getting there unseen would be nigh-impossible. I muttered a silent curse.

Sitting down on the cement floor, I began considering my rapidly narrowing options. I had a fairly good sniper vantage point here - I could take a few of the troopers out before the rest would know where the bullets were coming from. Maybe I could handle the entire platform. Maybe. On the other hand, there was no way to tell how many more were standing by nearby.

My internal watch told me that a couple of hours had passed since I landed in Battery Park. There was no way to know how far the NSF had managed to get the Ambrosia. I was running out of time; a shootout began to seem like the only option. I took a quick inventory. I still had the sniper rifle Paul had given me on Liberty Island, though it wouldn't be of much use in these close quarters. Along with a few LAM's and my stealth pistol, it wasn't much of an arsenal.

Thinking back, my reasoning seems hard to follow. I had just gone through something of an ethical crisis at the thought of shooting one of the troopers; not an hour later I was gearing up to slaughter a dozen? I have no explanation. A German satirist named Kurt Tucholsky wrote that "one death is a tragedy - a million deaths is a statistic", but it's telling that the quote is usually misattributed to Stalin. I suppose that in the end, my fear for the life of my brother weighed heavier than my conscience, when the two stood in conflict.

In retrospect, I'm happy for every situation back then that didn't end in gunfire. They are a precious few.

As I went over my supplies, checking the integrity of the sniper rifle's magazines, something caught my attention. An electronic buzzing was emanating from the solid brick wall that the shack was build against. It was weak - probably inaudible to a normal, unaugmented human - but somewhat like the humming of a bee to my enhanced senses. Searching the wall, I found a loose rock. When I tugged at it, a large section of the wall swung aside, revealing a hidden room.

It wasn't much of a command post. Walls of dirty, yellow bricks, lighted by a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. A couple of computer terminals displaying camera feeds or text-based security interfaces. In the middle of the room stood an NSF trooper in full body armour. I was leading with my stealth pistol. His hands lept into the air before I could begin to issue a threat.

"I surrender"

I didn't have time to dally; I practically growled at him. "The mole people say the Ambrosia came through here an hour ago".

"I'll cooperate. Relax. They went through the men's restroom, at the other end of the platform. It connects to some kind of service tunnel".

The information made sense with what I'd gathered from the troopers' movements. Speaking of which.

"Tell your friends outside to stand down". It wasn't a question.

"If you're from the Feds, you're a little late". He paused. "None of my men will lay down their lives for this rat hole. You want it, you've got it".

I picked up what supplies I could find - some ammo and a couple of medkits - and left the shack. The NSF on the platform looked up as I passed them, but aside from a few idle taunts, no real threats were made. The commander seemed true to his word.

The platform ended in a ramp and a couple of tunnels, one which brought me to the restrooms. The men's room wasn't as much a room as a gateway. Most of the booths had been torn down to provide easier passage, and the floor was covered in mud and footsteps. People had went through here recently. At the back of the room, a the wall had been torn down, opening a passage into a tunnel. I was willing to trust the commander's word that the Ambrosia had came through here. I didn't have much else to go on.

The tunnel obviously wasn't intended for heavy traffic. Water lay waist-high, shifting in nuances of green and brown. It was stiflingly hot. As I entered, Alex spoke on the infolink. "These sewage tunnels look like they come out somewhere by the airfield. Be careful, though. The terrorists probably expect intruders". His voice startled me somewhat; a reminder of sorts that I wasn't alone down here.

Alex's instincts proved right. I ran into a the first set of obstacles almost immediately. A series of laser beams slashed across the tunnel, an automated machine gun turret watching menacingly from the ceiling. I disabled them with one of the EMP grenades Anna had given me back in Battery Park. The system was shoddy by nature. Probably installed by the NSF on the go.

I proceeded through the tunnel at a brisk pace. I lacked any landmarks or distinctions, and estimating the distance I traveled is hard. Still, I begun to realize that I was leaving the city. Alex's comment on the infolink made sense; the NSF would want to get the Ambrosia on a plane as soon as possible.

I eventually rounded a corner and saw a ramp leading out of the sewage water, ending at the foot of a sturdy metal door. Mounted above the door was a security camera, connected by naked wiring to another machine gun turret. An NSF soldier stood guard.

I had been going too fast for stealth; the trooper had already spotted me. Without a moment's hesitation, he hit a switch. The screech of the alarm echoed down the tunnel. The security camera flashed an angry red and zoomed in to follow my movements. A mechanical click signaled the turret whirling into action. The muzzle spun, syncronizing with the camera feed to home in on me.

The trooper and the turret fired a hail of bullets, and I dropped to a crouch. Acting on instinct, my hands grasped on my gun. I dodged sideways as the NSF adjusted his aim to follow me. Still in motion, I fired twice. Once for the trooper, once for the camera. I knew without looking that both shots hit. Without it's guide, the turret immediately stopped firing.

I turned off the alarm, looted the corpse for some ammunition and the key to the door, then continued onwards.

Again, I suppose my actions might seem contradictory. How was it that I killed the guard without a moment's hesitation, not so long after the incident with the trooper in the corridor?

Stories are built on turning points; key moments in which conditions are redefined as the hero reaches a new level of insight. They are clean, simple. Life is far more muddled. Changes are gradul, one state evolving slowly into the next. Insights rarely come as violent strikes of lightning. While I had begun to tentively question the morality of my actions, I had only taken the first few steps on a long journey.

Besides, the situation didn't offer that many options. There are only so many ways to deal with a man shooting at you in a sewage tunnel.

The door opened to a bridge over a pool of water. Lasers blocked the way halfway across, and turrets were mounted on each side. I had a few grenades left, but I didn't know what waited ahead. If the NSF had security bots set up, I would be helpless without EMP.

Surveying my options, I took a deep breath and jumped into the pool. The drop was about two metres, but the muddiness of the water made it impossible to know how deep it was. I had seen water pouring in from an opening at the back end of the room. For the water level to remain unchanged, there had to be an opening out.

I tried not to think as I swam. The water was almost completely opaque. Tabloids loved stories of strange creatures lurking in the sewers. Still, it was just one conspiracy theory among many, and I felt silly for dwelling on it even for a moment. Hindsight provides a harsh edge of irony to those feelings, of course.

When I reached the end of the room, I took a deep breath and submerged. Feeling my way with my hands before me, I traced the outline of an opening just big enough for me to squeeze through. I had no time to stop and reconsider. I grasped at the walls of the opening and pulled myself forward into a small tunnel.


End file.
